Stevie-lou's POV.

It started with a warning. A heads-up. A whisper over wine and dim lighting.

"He has two meetings tomorrow. One at nine, one at twelve. Big shots. Foreign investors," I told Jeremy, keeping my voice low even though we were alone in the rooftop bar. My nails tapped the glass of my mimosa. "If they pull out, Hart bleeds. Bad."

Jeremy didn’t even flinch. He leaned back in his chair, that slow, dangerous smirk pulling at his lips. Dressed in all black, like always. He looked like sin and sex and danger, and he was mine. Still mine.

"You got the names?"

I nodded, passed him the folded...